I fell asleep beside Maria's bed.
Hours passed, I don't know how many.
The digital clock above the door still showed 9:14, as if this hospital memorized the time hope died. I didn't know whether this was a dream or a continuation of unraveling reality. But when I opened my eyes…
…Maria was sitting on the bed.
No machine sounds. No wires.
Just her — with clear eyes like before the world shattered.
"Ray," she said.
And her voice… was the voice of childhood. Soft. Honest. Untouched by life's breaks.
"I dreamed about us again," she said, turning to me, a faint smile touching lips that shouldn't be able to smile.
I wanted to ask: Are you real? But I knew, I created this. Like everything else.
But I didn't want to touch her — afraid she'd dissolve like morning mist.
"I want to stay here," I whispered. "If this is a dream… please don't wake me."
Maria chuckled softly.
"You've been awake for a long time, Ray. It's the world outside that's asleep."
I was silent.
Outside the window, there was nothing. Just white. Like snow without cold. Like a world not yet repainted after being broken.
"Are you angry that I keep living in the past?"
"Ray…" she said, looking at me like the mother we never had. "You're not living. You're only waiting for death in a circle you made yourself."
I looked down. Wanted to argue, but my heart was too tired of defending.
"Why did you appear now?"
"Because you've walked far enough in the dark. It's time to choose."
"Choose what?"
Maria rose. Her steps didn't touch the floor. But her traces remained — faint light with every step.
"Between staying with me in a time that will never move… or returning to a world that will always hurt. But also… a world you can change."
I gripped the chair as if it was my last anchor to reality. But my heart — it belonged to Maria.
"I'm not strong, Maria… that world… it's too cold without you."
She came closer. Touched my cheek. A touch no ordinary imagination could create.
"But I don't want to be the reason you stop living."
I wanted to cry.
Wanted to struggle like a child losing the only toy that made them feel safe.
But my tears had run dry nights ago.
Only a voice — trembling and heavy — remained.
"If I go back… you'll disappear, won't you?"
She nodded.
"Every miracle has a price, Ray. Even the ones you create yourself."
Then slowly, the light in the room dimmed. Like tiny lamps being turned off one by one by unseen hands.
Maria smiled.
"But I never really leave."
"As long as you remember me not as a wound… but as the reason you once smiled… then I will stay. In the most alive part of you."
Then she turned around.
Stepped toward a door that had appeared since who knows when in the corner of the white room.
When the door opened, blinding light flowed in like a wave.
I wanted to call her.
But this time…
…I only whispered:
"Thank you, Maria."
I didn't follow. I couldn't. Because some goodbyes aren't meant to be stopped. Just remembered.
And as the door closed, only one thing remained:
A silence that didn't hurt.
For the first time.
---
I woke up with a stiff neck and heavy eyes.
Not from a dream, but from a reality I had thrown into the corner of the room for too long.
The ceiling in my room was cracked like before — but no longer swaying like in my dreams.
No wires. No machines. No sound of artificial heartbeats.
Only silence — the kind too empty to be called home.
I slowly rose from the old mattress.
The air in the room was damp, musty — like it had stored silence for months.
I looked at the calendar on the desk — still stuck on last month.
But my phone, covered in dust, lit up when touched.
It had been almost three months since I last came home.
And no one had looked for me.
Or maybe… she had stopped hoping.
My steps wandered through the hallway — cold, like a museum where memories are preserved.
In the kitchen, my mother sat on a wooden chair, holding an empty cup.
Her eyes stared out the window, behind a curtain never drawn.
And as I passed behind her, she trembled —
as if my shadow was more frightening than the past she buried herself.
She said nothing.
And neither did I.
No embrace. No shouting.
Just an empty space between two people who used to be family.
I stood at the doorway, watching her.
Wanting to say something. Anything.
But in the end, only one sentence escaped:
"I'm going to school."
She didn't turn around.
But the cup in her hand shook slightly.
I didn't know if that was an answer… or fear.
But I had made a promise to Maria.
And even if I knew it was just a voice from the loneliest part of myself—
I believed the real Maria would want me to move forward.
---
At school, the world kept spinning as if I'd never disappeared.
The sky remained the same.
The students, still noisy.
But everything felt like it was filmed in silent black-and-white.
I was called to the counselor's office after the first class.
Mr. Harlan — face lined with restrained frustration — threw the attendance sheet onto the table.
"43 days, Ray. 43 days in the past three months. You think this is a vacation spot?"
I looked at the numbers.
Blank boxes beside my name — like dates I never touched.
I simply said:
"I'm sorry, Sir."
"That's all?"
"I'll start showing up again."
He stared into my eyes for a few seconds,
as if trying to find truth in words that didn't sound too convinced.
At last, he nodded slowly, tired.
"This isn't about grades, Ray. This is about you slowly vanishing from the world."
"I'm trying to come back, Sir."
He paused, then said more gently:
"I know you, Ray — maybe not like you know yourself, but enough to care. That doesn't mean you can vanish whenever life gets hard. People worry. I worry. Just… face it, okay?"
No, he is wrong. No one understand me. Nobody can understand me. No one in the world who can understand other People.
We just have ourself. Human just can understand themself. And if yourself can't understand you, then no one can understand you. Just like me, i still don't have someone who understand me.
I left the room with lighter steps.
Strangely, no weight on my shoulders.
Maybe because I knew—
I was beginning to return.
Little by little.
---
At lunch, I saw Beatrice sitting alone in the corner of the cafeteria.
Still the same as the last time I saw her —
the world seemed to avoid her,
or maybe she was the one keeping her distance from it.
I pulled out a chair across from her without asking.
She looked up, stared at me briefly.
"You disappeared from school like a side character who got bored of the plot," she said flatly.
I gave a faint smile.
"And now I'm back, hoping for a more important role."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Are you trying to start a weird conversation?"
"Not me, it's you."
"You want a punch?"
"That's why i like you."
"eww... gross..."
Silence fell between us like a leaf drifting down.
"i think... i want to be friends with you."
Beatrice stirred her juice with a straw, then replied:
"I'm not interested in having friends."
No anger in her tone. Just raw honesty with no promises.
I looked at her.
And for reasons I couldn't explain…
I smiled.
"Good."
She frowned.
"Good?"
"Because that means you're real."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"The characters in my head… they never say no to me."
Beatrice looked at me for a moment.
Whether she was confused, afraid, or just unwilling to be involved — I couldn't tell.
"You're weird, Ray."
"I know."
She stood, carrying her tray.
"Don't sit here again tomorrow."
But before she walked away, she turned back once more.
"Or… at least bring cold juice. I hate warm tea."
And just like that, she left.
But on the chair I left behind, something remained.
A possibility.
Something imperfect.
But real.
And for the first time,
I didn't hate an imperfect world.